At least, At First
by Kitty-Kat Allie
Summary: May remain one-shot, it's been floating on my hard drive for a while now. Who knew two such opposite forces would want to collide? Heated glances and slow yearning was filling up the void between them, and it's getting harder to control what happens next.


He didn't mean to look

He didn't mean to look...at least, not at first. She just kept on getting in his way. It was annoying, how she was always there, in his way; teasing him, confusing him, and -not like he would admit it- scaring him. He couldn't help but look when the ship was so small and she seemed to be all over it, right?

He started to notice her eyes first. Always staring at him, as if trying to see through him. They were dark, and deep, and they always managed to find his. He couldn't help but notice how they glittered when she played with him, and how they flashed when she was angry with him. How warm they got whenever their eyes met above a crowded room or through gunfire.

Then...he noticed her scent. It wafted through the air towards him. It became so that he could pick her out of the crowd, or he could tell when she walked in the same room as him because her scent would precede her. It was sort of soft and cool...kinda reminded him of when he was a boy and his grandmother would press flowers and mothballs in the clothes closets. His sheets always smelled of his grandmother's garden. And now the whole ship seemed covered in faint traces of her and her soft, cool, flowery smell.

Obviously, he noticed her hair next. All that hair that twined and whirled around her. The scent came mainly from her hair, how could he not notice it? Her hair seemed to be a weapon sometimes. She could hide her eyes, her face, her mouth, behind a curtain of hair leaving him wondering what face she was making, where was she looking, could she see him trying not to look at her and failing? Its long length and silky look made him want to touch it, made him wonder just how soft and silky it was. And that flowery scent of hers could make his eyes cross when she tossed that clean dark hair over her shoulder, overpowering him with the scent and her probing dark-eyed gaze.

Surprisingly, her body wasn't the first thing he noticed, but when he finally did, he realized with a jolt he wanted to touch not only her hair, but every spare inch of her. Her skin looked as silky and soft as her hair, even when covered in dirt or sweat. Her limbs were long and toned and flexible making him gape as she deftly did bent and twisted and flipped. She was sexier then a gun when she got down and dirty. She didn't have the curves he normally liked, but every inch of her was soft and looked like a dessert he couldn't wait to taste.

Lastly, he noticed her mouth. Sometimes she'd nibble at it, and that's what got his attention. A small pink mouth, usually set in a soft straight line, and when she smiled, she smiled with her whole body. Her eyes would shine, and her face would flush a little, she would rock slightly, as if leaning her body in to the joy, her small, capable hands would sometimes clasp or clap just once. When she was real happy, anyway. She laughed with her whole body, too, shaking and trembling, clutching at her sides or covering up her mouth.

She was a weapon, dangerous and deadly and just beautiful. In the middle of gunfire or fist and legs she was sexier than any weapon he'd ever seen. Every part of her moved and she seemed to dance through the danger, her body thrumming as if with flame and gunpowder. He loved to watch her move. But watching her was dangerous, and he didn't want to be on the wrong end of a gun, held by her hand or not.

So he tried to stop looking... at least, at first.

She didn't mean for him to notice, at least, not at first. She got in his way on purpose. She wanted to annoy him, she wanted to confuse him, she even wanted to scare him. She wanted to know what lay beneath his surface, and she wanted to Read him. It wasn't her fault the ship was rather small and she knew every inch her, right?

She noticed his eyes first. They caught her looking, caught her calculating how to get under his skin. They were bright and intense, and they began to meet hers more and more, until looking was a compulsion she couldn't resist. She couldn't help but notice how they danced when he teased her back, smacking at her hand filled with his bread-protein, how they got dark when he was angry or confused or hungry- in more ways than one. She couldn't help but look and see them brighten as a job got a little more dangerous or as a bar room got just a little more rowdy.

Then she noticed his scent. A strong scent she wasn't used to that tugged at her. His scent was like a presence and a colour in her mind that made it easy to tell when he was near. It was like a dark, warm brown- the smell of gunpowder, tobacco, and sweat, the smell of metal and leather. He reminded her of guns and sex, overflowing with a ripe thrive to live. He wasn't sterile or prissy clean or fake perfume, nothing like the life back when she was 'normal'. His smell soothed her mind so she could sleep.

His hands surprised her. Hands were hands, until she noticed his. They were large, strong, and rough, weapons all by themselves. His strength and his life were told in his hands. They cradled guns and knives with the same tenderness he cradled a woman's flesh- gentle but firm. She wanted those hands to touch her too, make her feel small and powerful and beautiful. He'd see her as a weapon, and he'd appreciate her the more for it. Her body would tremble when his large hands wrapped around his weapons or stroked their smooth cool exteriors. He made it exotic.

His body was hard to miss. Not one to be overwhelmed by physical prowess normally, she couldn't help but feel awe watching his muscles work under his skin. He was huge to her, all muscle and sweat. His skin was dark and rough from sun and weather, his muscles iron hard enunciated by his tight t-shirts. He should not have been allowed to wear clothes that hugged him like that, so even when he walked she could see the strong muscles of his pi gu and legs flex and relax beneath his pants. She wanted to sink her teeth into him and feel those muscles inside her mouth, against her tongue.

But it was his smile; it was his smile that took her breath away. She realized then it was his smile she wanted all this time, she wanted his smile for _her_, directed at _her_. When she finally amused him, when she finally made him grin, her knees knocked. His grin made those beautiful blues eyes just shine bluer and truer than Osirius's clean sky. His teeth shined white in his dark goatee and there were little laugh lines around his eyes.

She was weapon, dangerous and deadly. She knew how much he loved weapons, how much he enjoying a fine-working machine that would dance and sing in his hands. She knew he liked a fine woman, too. She was already a weapon, the best around, a weapon that loved to dance and would fit against him just right. If only she could convince him she was a woman. But if he noticed, it would be dangerous, because others might notice, too, and she didn't want him at the wrong end of a gun.

So she tried to be a more subtle... at least, at first.


End file.
